


Five Times He Called Her Daisy and Once He Called Her Skye

by sfiddy



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Identity, Mission Fic, Names, Sexual Content, Skoulson - Freeform, ZombieQuake, every name fic basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5203151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfiddy/pseuds/sfiddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy knows he has a hard time with her name.  Sometimes that's okay.<br/>Mission fic with porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times He Called Her Daisy and Once He Called Her Skye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notcaycepollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/gifts), [brullaffe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brullaffe/gifts).



> Many thanks for the pre-readers, notcaycepollard and brullaffe, for providing comments, catching errors (omg tenses) and generally being awesome.

~.~

1\. When he lets her think.

The table had four sides, and they were all occupied. Coulson likes to stand. It gives him room to move around, pointing at things, fiddling with the screens, pulling up holographic models to spin and flick them around.

Praxis helps him hide his nerves.

“Daisy, your team will engage but only after we have the package. They’re going to want it back and we need you to defend the exit and keep the way as open as possible.”

As Coulson rotated the bright lines of the schematic to show them all the exit route, Daisy waited for the catch, further instructions. Her whole team doesn’t get called in unless there are several contingencies in play.

“Mack, I need your group to move fast.” Coulson looked up and pointed to the model of the package. “But not too fast. This thing is highly sensitive and will change to accommodate and protect itself. Your job is to create containment that makes it feel safe.”

Mack chuckled. “You want it gift-wrapped?”

“With a ribbons and a card, if you can swing it.”

Mack leaned forward and nudged the hologram to get a better look. “Is it relative to its surroundings, or in general? What kinds of cues do we need to compensate?”

Coulson straightened and adjusted his cuffs over the prosthetic. Daisy braced herself. He was being obvious—he couldn’t help it when it came to her.

“Daisy, that’s where your team comes in.” The muscle in his jaw flexed. He was being sloppy. “Your searches said there was something big in there. I need your team to assess what the objective’s sensitivities are, preferably without setting it off.”

Workable. She nodded and rapidly ran through test scenarios. “How long will we have?”

His jaw went into spasm overdrive. “About ten minutes. Maybe more if you and I can keep the project manager busy.”

There was a murmur through the room as Coulson fielded questions and clarified the route. Daisy could just feel her pupils constricting. They were going to have to run practice simulations day and night to get the timing right. Then there was the issue of her test, and how to do it without seeing it. Maybe on the way in, if she knew where it was. If she set it off, no harm done since her people wouldn’t be in yet. Surely an alarm would go off, and she and Coulson would be escorted out and told there was a minor emergency and their secretary would reschedule, have a nice day. Live to try another day. Her team, small and novice as they were, were good, but they needed coordination. She could write up a playlist of sorts, and have Fitz run quarterback over comms to keep it all running smoothly while Simmons handled the analysis. Daisy stretched her hand out flat on the conference table and took a breath before looking back up as Coulson coordinated the point of entry. 

He glanced at her, still talking to May. He was smirking. He’d been watching her figure it out, giving her time to wrap her head around it which, of course, she did. In less than two minutes.

“Right, people. Talk to your teams and work up a plan by tonight. We are go for the meeting in 72 hours, so we have to move.” Chairs pushed back and people filed out. 

Daisy stood, slowly. “I’ll talk to everyone and have a testing plan set up with FitzSimmons by tonight. It’ll be rough, but we’ll have it ready by the time we’re go.”

Coulson gave her an efficient nod, but caught her lightly by the shoulder. He tried to be a strict taskmaster but couldn’t quite manage it with her. She knew she could disarm him so easily, his ground zero soft spot, and that was why she was so careful, so hard on herself. He trusted her too much, but needed her badly.

Gentle squeeze to her shoulder, and his hand slid to her arm. “I know you will, Daisy. I know you will.”

~.~

2\. When they work.

She had to strike just the right note. Somewhere between efficient agent and overly perky sales rep, and those styles didn’t easily overlap for her. Too much skin and curve and they wouldn’t be taken seriously; the meet would devolve into a macho game. Too tactical and they risked putting the whole facility on alert before her team was even in the gates.

Coulson held up a tailored blazer, specially fitted with hidden panels and a hack kit. “Daisy, have you thought about a wig?”

She tugged at her pencil skirt and frowned. “A wig?”

He shrugged. “Handy way to throw off cameras, change your look fast.” He adjusted his cuff over the prosthetic and checked the mirror. “Romanoff has a collection. I could ask to have some pictures sent over.” He held up his wrists. “What do you think, cufflinks or no?”

Daisy stared, and not at the cuffs held up for her inspection. “Did you just suggest I start copying an Avenger?” 

Coulson blinked. “She’s an agent.”

“She’s an Avenger.”

“Yeah, but only when they’re in town.” He put his arms down and tugged his sleeves. “The rest of the time she’s an agent and she’s very good. Worth emulating. Might see if she’d do some consulting with you sometime.”

Daisy walked around him, constricted by the tight pencil skirt and what May called ‘tactical heels’. She was still wearing a tank top and flannel for good measure, though. Coulson swallowed but continued to examine his wardrobe options.

“You have a thing,” Daisy said suddenly.

“I do not have a thing,” he said, refusing to look away from a rack of ties. 

She took the tie rack and stood in front of his mirror. “You absolutely have thing and I’m calling you out on it. You totally have a hero crush.”

He snatched a silver tie off the rack she was holding. “I do not have a hero crush on Agent Romanoff.”

“No, no, no, not on a specific hero. Heroes. Plural. Communal.”

Coulson scoffed. “You make it sound like some locker room thing.” He draped the tie over a navy blue blazer and held it up to the light. “It’s not like that,” he said softly.

Daisy handed back the tie rack and started looking at blouses. Definitely classic white, maybe with an extra button undone just to put the right spin on things. Then she remembered something she’d heard once.

“Wait a minute… did you or did you not design Captain America’s suit?”

He dropped the navy blazer over a chair. “Not… all of it.”

Daisy gasped and covered her mouth. All the little tucks and curved seams and vents in special locations and-- “Oh my god. Did you… did you design _mine_?”

With efficient movements, he slung the gray blazer he was wearing over a hanger and picked up the navy one. “I may have helped, yes.” His eyes flicked downward. “I’m quite good at it, if I do say so myself.”

_Did he just…_

The door burst open with a wheeled rack of clothes in the lead, pushed by Simmons. “Alright, we’ve finished the alterations to this set, so do let us know what you select and we’ll add the necessary comms hardware straightaway.” She paused at the silence. At them staring at each other. “Right then, just call when you’re ready? Yes, just… call.” She slipped out and shut the door behind her quickly.

Daisy tilted her head to one side. “It’s pretty cool, actually. My compliments.”

Coulson gave a tiny, proud smile. “I’ll take suggestions. I’m always happy to make adjustments.”

“Adjustments?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll let you know.”

He turned back to his wardrobe rack and bounced a bit on his heels. Daisy bit back a giggle and reached for a blouse. “Oh, Coulson?”

He whipped around so fast a tie slipped off the rack. “Yeah?”

“Definitely go with the cufflinks. You’re supposed to be a rep from his company. It’s like code for ‘I’m a huge jerk.’”

Coulson smiled. “Thank you, Daisy.”

~.~

3\. When they’re other people.

It’s like seeing the word ‘blue’ written in the color red. The way he sits is different, his speech cadence is altered, and he even gestures in a way that’s out of character. He’s good. Very good.

In prep, Coulson assured her that he would make it easy for her, leave her large openings and an easy excuse. He really has, but it’s still new for Daisy, and so she sticks to the script, letting him take the lead.

“Is it true that your leadership has led to production increases of more than fifteen percent over the past quarter?” The site manager was so pleased that he cued up a slide presentation on his laptop. Coulson scooted to the edge of his seat and got out pen and notepad, rapt, like the good little corporate stooge he was playing.

“Rosie,” Coulson urged, and Daisy bobbed her head like there wasn’t much in it. “Make sure you take notes, honey. You could go places, you know.” So Daisy wiggled in her seat, making an effort to be as distracting as possible so Coulson could place the device under the lip of the desk unnoticed. When she leaned over, he was able to scan the laptop with a wave of his notepad, specially equipped by Fitz to lift data.

The comms sprang to life. The team needed more time. Coulson’s face never changed and Daisy just kept smiling.

When the slide show was over, Daisy made a show of excitement again, and the mark sidled up to her, making it clear he’d like to improve her chances at acquiring his proprietary information. He wrapped his fingers around her arm above the elbow and she went with it under Coulson’s suddenly wary eye.

He didn’t need to speak. _Daisy, are you okay with this?_

She blinked slowly. _Place a tracker on me and follow._

He nodded. _You won’t be out of my sight._

~.~

4\. When she is in danger.

They met in the hall as she headed to the powder room. He’s worried. It may be a very expensive, artistically lit cocktail lounge, but a bar is a bar and people get stupid in them, no matter how much a drink costs.

“Are you okay?” His brow was knit, eyes fixed on the bar, scanning. “I count at least six. Four armed.”

“Cool.” Daisy looked over her shoulder. “I’ll leave you one.”

“Hey, we just need to keep him busy for another ten minutes or so. Mack says they’re nearly done.”

“Good, because I’m dying to get out of these heels.”

Coulson pulled her into a dark corner. “Daisy, please be careful. He’s a small fish but those guards aren’t. Fitz is picking up some chatter I don’t like and I’d rather not have to call in an extraction team for us.”

Daisy could feel the tension in his hand, the pulse of his blood thrumming in time with her own. There’s a resonance between them and she knows when it’s time to quit the act, to put away the layer that keeps them wisecracking through the work and get down to the raw edges, because that’s where they really operate from. They don’t know any other way. No room for it if they did.

She nodded, steady and sure. “Ten minutes. You supplying the distraction or me?”

Coulson shrugged, and held out his fist. _One, two, three._

She giggled on her way to the powder room. “Rock beats scissors. See you in ten.”

.

She took a spray of fine shrapnel when the distraction went sideways. The stupid white shirt stuck to her and if she hadn’t thought her feet would be slashed to bits, she’d have ditched the heels. Daisy managed to take care of three guards before it was clear she took enough of the blast to be dizzy, missing a sweeping kick and getting knocked to the floor.

Through the haze, she thought she heard him slip up. Hard to be sure. Panic can break the best of us.

But Daisy was sure that Coulson took care of the other three, his voice shouting commands at the team as they tear in for the extraction. Pretty sure it was Mack carrying her over his shoulder like a rag doll.

Pretty sure it was Coulson next to her in the van checking her head.

Pretty sure it was Coulson who carefully held her so the cuts didn’t get jostled.

Certain it was Coulson who stroked her hair and hummed on the way back.

~.~

5\. When they debrief.

The package’s name was Kelsey, and he had the interesting gift of being able to nudge reactions to completion. 

Hunter squinted. “I don’t get it. You put two things in a tube, shake it up or wave it over a flame and it reacts. Done.”

Jemma gave an indulgent smile and examined a fine forceps. “Reactions reach a balance, but never go to completion. It’s the fundamental basis of LeChatlier’s principle regarding the equilibrium of systems.”

With a shrug, Hunter grunted. He grunted again when Bobbi elbowed him. 

Coulson, cut and bruised but cleaned up, queued up an image of Kelsey, wincing at his obvious youth. “And the miraculous increase in efficiency was due to using him as their new catalyst.”

Mack shook his head. “Man, I’m glad we found him where we did.” The whole team nodded, knowing it could have been far worse.

“Simmons, where are we?”

“Kelsey is in containment, and fell asleep before we even installed him in the housing unit. I thought it best just to let him be, poor dear.”

Daisy, quiet until now owing to not wanting to stretch her bandages, piped up. “Is he okay?”

Simmons paused, placing her tools in a tray for sterilization. “He’s fine. His weight was normal, he showed no visible bruising or favoring of any limbs. I think he wasn’t allowed to sleep much to keep the efficiency of the plant as high as possible.”

Daisy lowered her head. “No wonder he’s exhausted. He’s been using his powers with no breaks for months.”

Coulson cleared his throat. “When he wakes up, I want him stocked with anything he wants, stat. Daisy, you and Simmons coordinate. Mack, I have a feeling you might be useful on this. See if an eighteen year old kid who’s worked for months straight feels like a game of Halo.”

“I’ll make sure it’s ready to go.”

The room cleared out except for Simmons, Daisy and Coulson, who watched Daisy as she inhaled in cautiously measured breaths. 

“How’s the patient?”

Simmons held up a steel tray of jagged shards. “Well, I fished out the ones she couldn’t knock loose herself. In future, Agent Johnson, may I recommend waiting until I take a look at you before trying to superpower shrapnel out of yourself?” Simmons softened her words with a fond smile.

“Sorry. Didn’t realize how much things could spin once they pierced skin.”

With a frown, Coulson eyed the tray of twisted fragments and metal shavings. “How deep is the damage, Agent Simmons?”

“Not deep at all, just messy. There will be some bruising but I’ve numbed the area and given her some medicine for the rest of the pain.” She turned to Daisy. “I’ve got to get back to Kelsey, but if you have any discomfort or if something is wrong, please come back.”

Coulson nodded as Simmons headed to the door, leaving him with Daisy in the glass-walled medical bay. Technicians and engineers walked back and forth with armloads of equipment in various states of function and the whoosh of airlocks beat in time to the pulse of their movements. Lights blinked and timers rang, sending the science team scurrying after this or that in the lab beyond. 

Daisy, her hair still matted and face smudged, kept breathing in and out in perfectly even measures. She’d ditched the white shirt for a tank top and the bandages on her shoulders and upper back were visible.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, gave a weak smile. “That was a pretty neat distraction, you have to admit.”

Coulson shook his head. “Right up until the part where you were bleeding. Next time, don’t explode a glass and steel sculpture behind you.”

“Admittedly not my best distraction ever.” Daisy slid gingerly off the bench onto the high shine floor, her soles slapping on the polished floor. When she looked up, Coulson was looking at her dirty feet. “I’m not a big fan of tactical heels.”

Light caught on the diagonal muscle in his jaw as he clenched. “We’ll design something more functional for you.” 

Daisy nodded. “Cool.” She stood, waiting, watching Coulson as he stayed where he was, not turning away or mentioning needing to check in with someone or other. “Coulson?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, looking down. “You probably need to go rest.”

“Yeah.” Daisy turned to leave when she felt a light touch on her arm. As careful as she’d so often been with him.

“Daisy,” he said softly, pulling her in for a hug she was very happy to have even if it pulled at the bandages. “From now on, let me pick the distraction?”

She laughed by his neck, and tucked her fingers under his collar. “Maybe.”

A casual passerby would have thought nothing. After missions there were often moments like these among the field agents, random expressions of affection. A casual passerby has seen this at least a dozen times in a dozen places with each member of the field team. But a casual passerby passes by, and does not know how long the embrace lasts.

~.~

+1

It was the first thing she ever chose for herself. It started just online, when she was fourteen, with a username for forums and chatrooms to trade pieces of code. Eventually it became a whole package, a persona she grew into because she was skilled and others respected her. Online she had name recognition, and with it came confidence and stability she didn’t have in the real world.

It was only natural to use it once she was on her own.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Coulson murmured as she stripped off her softest ragged sweatshirt and adjusted her tank. “I saw you wince during dinner.”

“I’m fine. The stitches just came out yesterday and I’m just getting used to my skin being mine again.” She leaned back and twisted. “See, all good.”

He frowned. “I’m still not clearing you for the field yet.” Coulson leaned over his personal desk and made a note. “How’s the new kid?”

She smiled and sat in the middle of the sofa. She liked this spot, and liked that she knew he couldn’t resist joining her. “He’s better. I think he’s gained a few pounds already and Mack says he’s playing on the ‘expert’ level.”

_3… 2… 1_

He pushed away from his desk and walked across the small living room to sit next to her. “So, he’s still a kid? Video games and pizza?”

She nodded. “Yep. And a dozen doughnuts and three burgers and half a bag of chips. We were just in time.” She tucked a leg up and turned so she could face him better. Because she could. Because she wanted to.

Coulson propped his arms up on the side and back of the sofa. “It was your search that tracked him down. You were just in time.” She liked the half smile he wore when she won. He knew how much these shared victories meant to her personally. 

She leaned forward and did not miss the way his breath caught, pulling at the top button in his shirt, and then released when she reached for the decanter and glasses on the coffee table. It wasn’t a game, but by mutual agreement they eased into things. Their scars told stories of being caught off guard, and as a result they both liked a lot of warning.

A warming slug of good whiskey didn’t hurt, either. She’d learned to appreciate the efficiency of it, if not necessarily the taste. She didn’t need it, not for this. They weren’t like Lance and Bobbi, who lived for the rush and needed the edge of adrenaline to cut through their baggage. Lance and Bobbi didn’t know it, but only a third of the surveillance cameras in the Playground were visible, but every inch was watched. Including that corner of the garage they favored.

The Director’s quarters were on a closed circuit.

She stretched out her arm and handed Coulson his drink. When she sat again, she let her leg overlap with his, draping her arm alongside his on the back of the sofa. Within two sips, Coulson –Phil—stroked her arm with the back of his fingers. Little curlicues of feeling traced paths through her, across her chest and outwards, settling into her skin with a pleasant buzzing.

This was what they did-- these slow, gentle movements of brittle people who are stronger together. Her life made her tough, flexible enough to adapt. Phil had to be unmovable, a pillar of ideals and strength. They were better together, especially in this life. Gunshots, fights, super powers, explosions and aliens. 

You either needed the high, or you needed to come down from it. 

They sat, talking quietly of everything and nothing at all as they let their limbs touch, mingling their spaces in casual comfort to erase the last traces of the mission. When their drinks were half empty, Phil rested the glass on his thigh. “Do you ever wonder--” 

“No,” she cut him off. Whatever his mind had dished up was only going to send him in a thousand directions, very few the way they needed. They got so few moments like these --quiet, between missions, no broken bodies-- that she wasn’t about to let him waste it.

Phil lifted her hand in his and traced her fingers. He’d seen shockwaves fly from them enough times, but he never tired of seeing it, she knew. “Really? Not even… um,” he gestured at her middle. 

She absently rested her glass against the scars, then swallowed the rest of her drink. “No. Not even after being shot. Twice.” She stretched to set her glass on the table and scooted closer. “Not any of it.”

He brushed the hair by her cheek back and touched her neck. “Life would have been easier for you.” 

She reached and fiddled with the knot at his neck. “Probably not.” She knows better. “I was on SHIELD’s radar years before I met you. It was only a matter of time. And if you hadn’t picked me up, I would have been grabbed by Hydra.” With a gentle tug, his tie was loose, and in a few moments his shirt was unbuttoned. Phil made no move to hide the ridged scar, barely visible through the cotton undershirt, but left his arms spread, eyes fixed on her movements.

She loves that he invites her closer like this. Open invitation. Vulnerable, but only here, with her, behind heavily guarded closed doors, and closed circuit monitoring.

He smiled softly. “I guess I’d be dead. Is that where you were going?”

“Strictly speaking, yes.” She slipped his tie free and tossed it towards the table.

Phil quickly finished the last dregs of his drink and leaned back into the cushions. While his eyes were closed, savoring the last swallow and the last few charged seconds of this tender moment, she adjusted her place, ready to move in.

He’s never surprised to find her so close. Not since the first time she decided she was done waiting for him to realize what everyone else already knew. To realize the rules did not apply to them; the dead man and the alien orphan. They made their own rules because those were the only ones that made sense any more. 

She’s gentle with his face because it took a hit or two and is only half healed. The split lip is closed, and the cut on his cheek is a pink line now. That’s their thing, though, touching faces. It started long ago, this need for touch of the most intimate kind. Long before this, and that’s why it feels so damn right.

“If you’re still--”

“I’m fine.” She knelt over him, between his legs, so she could get closer and be above him. He’s too old for his hands to tremble at the idea of her on top of him, thank god, so his light but firm touch on the backs of her thighs is good. Very good.

So is his mouth. She loves the way his lips curve against hers, the way he turns his head rather than making her twist her neck round. The way she only has to suck at his bottom lip to make his grip tighten.

She slid her fingers under the shoulders of the shirt and pushed at it.

“Off?” Phil said distractedly, already undoing the buttons at the cuffs and struggling with them.

“Yeah,” she said, reaching for his left sleeve, sliding it off over the prosthetic. His undershirt was next and she leaned back to look.

Phil’s not shy exactly, but he’s a man unused to attention, and therefore not predictable in his reactions. Sometimes he’s absolutely suave, teasing her to distraction before she can tell what’s happening. Occasionally he’s desperate, clinging to her like a wind battered bird to a sheltering ledge, seeking her warmth. 

Tonight he was content to enjoy her attention, letting her have her fill of him and lick into his warming mouth for the taste of whiskey while he rested his head back on the tallest cushion, tugging her closer in increments she can count by the catches in his exhales.

When there was no more space between them and her arms no longer supported her because he was, she felt him start to stroke her sides, circling over her hips and around to her back, slipping his tongue over hers in time with his hands.

Fingertips, natural and mechanical, dipped just under the edge of her broken in jeans. Well-softened denim and delicate cotton slipped to the floor, followed by his belt. The next part, though, was always done carefully.

She sat up, flannel shirt unbuttoned and hanging open. That made a good distraction. These scars, this sensitivity, they had in common, and Phil’s eyes tracked to her middle. She toyed with the edge of his white undershirt, easing him towards what she wanted. 

She nudged the shirt up an inch, just over the dusting of curls below his navel.

“Skye,” he breathed, then looked at her nervously.

She smiled. She could still be Skye, just here, with him. Skye was a part of her, the part that was free and foolish, daring and resourceful. Daisy was, too, but she wasn’t Daisy when she fell in love. Skye fell in love first, and Phil had fallen in love with her, too. 

Skye pushed the shirt up a bit higher and bent down. She could feel his belly twitching under her lips as she kissed him. He ran a hand over her hair softly and drew his knees up, cradling her as she raised his shirt to the edge of his scar. Skye could feel his moan resonate against her face.

Skye was flawed, had problems. She lived in a van, stole, had questionable friends, and made poor choices. But they were _her_ choices, and Phil had loved her despite all of that. Maybe because of it. Daisy made the right choices, hard choices, but only because of what Skye had learned.

The scar was an ugly mark on his chest, twisted and thick despite the best doctors and the extracted serum of an alien. She could only wonder how awful the wound would have been without all of that, except she would have never known, would she? This could never have been.

Skye loved that ugly scar a bit, and ran her lips near it carefully, knowing from experience that damage like that was often uncomfortable when touched. Never poke at old wounds, just smooth the ragged edges. 

“Phil,” she murmured as she pushed the shirt to his neck, exposing him to her nipping kisses. He inhaled suddenly when she grazed his nipple with her teeth.

His belly tightened, rippling with easy strength under her. With one arm, he swept the shirt off and immediately had her pressed tightly against his body, braced by his legs on either side of her, grinding up against her.

It was her turn to gasp, but not for long because he swallowed it down in a hard kiss. Skye’s heart pounded and flutters from inside her sent tingles across her skin as Phil gripped her. She reached down and gave his hip a squeeze and he answered with a nod. 

There would be no bedroom today. 

When his trousers were undone and Skye reached to cup him, his right hand on her hip tightened. She propped her forearm on the cushion next to him and stroked.

He jerked his head back. “Oh god, Skye.” 

“Yeah?” She cupped him. “Like that?”

“ _Christ, yes_.” Phil turned his head to her hand and licked her fingertips, sucking two of them into his mouth.

The jolt caught Skye by surprise. It shouldn’t, not anymore, but it always did. He pressed her fingers to the roof of his mouth and slid his tongue in between them before letting them slip out, slick and shining in the low light.

“Touch yourself.”

He held her by the waist, supporting her while she reached a hand between her legs and pressed, skating either side of her sex, dipping shallowly. Phil slipped a finger between hers, not moving, just feeling, watching her movements and her face. When she slid her hand out of his pants he clamped his hand over hers, holding her steady against his chest.

When the sounds grew wet and lush, he grasped her wrist and brought her hand back to his mouth, sucking her fingers once more. The feel of his velvety tongue this time made her head swim, dizzy with need.

He was still sucking her fingers when he started shoving at his trousers until they were a rumpled heap by the sofa. Then he slipped an arm under her thigh and boosted her up until she was kneeling on one side with her other leg spread to the side over him. With a grin, Phil slid down the cushion until Skye could feel his breath on her thighs, then he wrapped an arm over her right leg, holding her to his mouth and licked deeply, nose buried against her. 

“Jesus, Phil,” Skye choked out. He sucked her into his mouth, burying his tongue as far into her as he could. Liquid warmth flooded her, ripening her body, sparking her temples with heat and vibrating with internal quakes as he mouthed her greedily. The quivers starting in her legs, weakening her knees. She half flopped over the back of the couch but he arched up to follow, pressing two fingers into her, flicking his tongue faster.

Flares of pleasure coiled from his hot mouth up to her chest, blooming heat across her chest and up to her neck and ears. Her legs were shaking, and she curled herself around him, muscles contracting as her entire body released, pulsing with power that rattled the glasses on the table and set her ears ringing.

Before the last waves were over her, Skye shoved him back onto the couch and kissed him hard, pressing him into the cushions of the sofa, licking herself off his lips as she reached down to guide him. His mouth was forming words her buzzing ears couldn’t hear even if she wasn’t drinking them from his lips. 

His breaths were coming fast as she slid over him, rolling herself against his pelvic bone. “Christ, Skye. I—Oh god,” he panted as she raised herself up and back down. His skin was warm to the touch as she palmed his chest, tracing the dips and outlines of muscles as they bunched and released with his thrusts.

She shifted forward, tucking her feet between his knees to spread herself wide, grinding low and hard. They both gasped, and Skye pushed against him faster, feeling her face growing hot again.

“Fuck, I can feel you running between my legs,” Phil said between clenched teeth, grasping her and pushing up. It was the last nudge she needed, so she clenched. Hard. His eyes squinted shut as he arched and slammed his head back into the cushion. There would be bruises tonight, but tiny ones that came in delicate sets on shoulders and hips. They would fade quickly, but not before the ones from the fight, and that was fine with Skye.

She spoke first. Garble.

“What?” He looked at her with one eye opened. “You didn’t have that much to drink did you?”

“No,” she hummed. “My tongue… still kinda numb.”

“You’re not the one who--”

“Shut up!” she laughed. “Can’t you just be a little happy that it was so good my fingers and tongue are still tingling? By the way, you ruin the smirk by looking so dorky right after.”

“I’m happy.”

“You’re a happy dork.”

He shrugged, still grinning. “Yeah. I kind of am.”

Daisy and Coulson had the next mission to think about in the morning. Daisy needed to check on her newborn team, and Coulson needed to run interference with a dozen more official groups paid for by taxpayer money by taxpayers who were misled but not by SHIELD. There were aircraft that needed patching and science teams who needed to be reminded of mission goals, and gear that needed checking.

But for the rest of the night they could be Skye and Phil, because they fell in love before all this madness, before Hydra and GH-325 and Afterlife and ATCU. Before all that, there had been rules, but the rules don’t apply anymore, and that suits them just fine. So they made love to the sound of vinyl records and skipped training the next day, still grinning when they missed breakfast and had to make their own before slipping back into their other lives, waiting for the next chance to be Skye and Phil.

~.~


End file.
